


The Human Is Not So Fragile As He Seems (But He Still Is)

by Goldstone_Wolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Gen, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, The Lord of the Rings References, The OCs are just hunters and jerks, title may be changed eventually, torture scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23722570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstone_Wolf/pseuds/Goldstone_Wolf
Summary: Takes place in Season One. Stiles is kidnapped and beaten up by a criminal with a mean streak—and a grudge against Noah Stilinski.
Relationships: Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. Broken Glass and Bloodied Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles gets captured. All Noah Stilinski finds is a note and blood--a lot of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally started to like Stiles, which of course means I’m going to beat the crap out of him. TWs in tags. Also, do you guys read books that tend to have first-person or third-person point of view more? I’m trying to do something (I’ll explain when I have the story “Nothing Quite Says Love Like Broken Bones and Bruises” up) and I need to find out beforehand.  
> Also, this is a multi-chapter fic.  
> Now, into the fray!

He knew something was wrong when he pulled up to the house.

It was late at night, yes, but Stiles had promised he’d stay up. It was a Friday night. They’d been planning on watching _Lord of the Rings_ together. On his way home, Noah had even picked up some extra sodas and candy from the store. Roscoe was parked in the driveway, so Stiles was home. But the lights were off.

_Maybe he went to bed early? Maybe he felt sick—or I worked later than I thought._ Glancing at the car’s clock, he pulled out his phone and checked the time. They were the same—9:45 p.m. Slowly, he got out of the car with the bags and unholstered his gun, going to the door.

They’d been planning on watching _Lord of the Rings_ together.

There was glass in the entryway. As Noah flicked the lights on, heart pounding, he called, “Stiles?” His boots crunched on shattered glass.

He got to the kitchen and froze.

The kitchen window facing the driveway was intact. The other had been bashed in, jagged shards of windowpane catching streams of fallen moonlight where they decorated the counters and floor. The wood slats were dashed with bloody spatters, red running in the cracks between the glass, and his heart dropped. “Stiles?! Where are you?” No answer.

They’d been planning on watching _Lord of the Rings_ together.

“Stiles, son, I need you to answer me!” He ran into the halls, down towards the bedrooms and abandoning the bags on the floor of the entryway. “Stiles!” Desperately, he checked the bedrooms and bathroom, chest heaving.

He nearly shot the clock his wife had loved so much when it chimed. As the clock struck ten, a chilling realisation struck him. There had been a note on the counter.

They’d been planning on watching _Lord of the Rings_ together.

Boots crunching crack-spiderwebbed glass, Noah slammed into the oven as he sprinted and sprang for the note. Desperately, he prayed that Stiles had just gotten hurt, that he’d been taken to the hospital by Scott. But the handwriting wasn’t one he recognised in the least.

_Hello, Noah Stilinski._

 _As you might be able to tell, I’ve got your beloved Mieczyslaw. If you can solve these puzzles and win our little game, I_ might _just give him back._

_Puzzle One:_

_La=16.00794_

Holding the note, Noah dropped to his knees. No matter how many times he read it over, it changed nothing. Stiles was gone. _His son was gone._ And all he had were thirty-six measly words.

They’d been planning on watching _Lord of the Rings_ together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, I managed to almost get Stiles’ real name right, I just switched the y and the z around. Anyways, next chapter is…(*pretends to roll non-existent wheel while ignoring the fact I wrote directions like this is 2012*) the pain train!  
> Also, finally finished “Second Chance at First Line”, so I should be watching episode three by the end of the day this is posted.  
> Now, back to the next chapter! Once it’s written!  
> (Note: These got doubled over to the next chapter, but I don't know why. Sorry--in the future I will most likely use chapter one as a table of contents and upload with two chapters instead)


	2. Lord of the Rings? Cool. Being Kidnapped? Not Cool.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up tied to a chair and meets his captor (although a name is not given). Meanwhile, Scott goes to Derek for help finding a missing Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stiles. Also, I was thinking about establishing character traits for another project in a way I found interesting and my thought was “school goes on a trip to learn about biology or whatever” and “that one girl is going to wear the wrong outfit because she’s trying to impress her boyfriend or whatever” because it puts the protagonists for said project where I need them all at once and forces them to interact immediately, as well as showing how they do both under orders and under pressure. Which, when you’re dealing with nine protagonists (that’s actually my average, anyways, although sometimes they split off into smaller groups; my record for working book series is currently thirteen protagonists on a rotating POV for a WIP).  
> Anyways, actual fic-related note, as this is Season One Stiles, this isn’t going to be the Stiles that faced down the Nogistune or the Anuk-ite. He’s the Stiles that looked up werewolves and complained about being Robin to Scott. So he’s not going to be that good at holding back pain, which he’ll be in a lot of. No clues are given for this chapter.  
> Now, into the fray!  
> (Poor Stiles)

He was woken up by an electric shock.

Screaming past whatever was in his mouth, he jolted upright. The taser prongs were ripped from his stomach, and he gasped raggedly as the pain faded into a buzz. A hand grabbed his face, jerked his jaw upright, and scrubbed the tears from his eyes with rough fingers. Whimpering, he tried moving away, but he was bound to his seat.

“Hello, Mieczyslaw.” Who called him that? How could they even _pronounce_ it right? “It’s good to see you’ve woken up.”

_Considering you_ shocked _me, I’m not surprised that I’m awake._ He glared at them, wishing he could loose every curse and insult he knew. And he knew quite a few—many having been thrown at him in the past, of course, but at least he knew them. The person in front of him pulled their mask off, grinning. He was a white man in his mid-forties with greying dark hair and pale eyes. He had tan khakis, a white shirt, and a hunting jacket on, as well as combat boots. Vaguely, Stiles wondered if this guy was a hunter. It made sense—Chris Argent, Allison’s dad, was a hunter. Scott had been freaking out about that for _days_ after his first full moon. Of course, that was just the way Scott was sometimes. Not that Stiles blamed him—he overthought about pretty much every—

The guy punched him in the jaw.

For a few moments, Stiles simply stared at him. He played lacrosse, he took hits and he took them often. Jackson was an idiot and Scott didn’t know his own, sudden werewolf strength. “Listen to me, you little—” The man cut off with a growl and indicated the camera behind him. There was a light blinking, indicating it was recording. “That’s sending to everyone you know. Understand?”

His brain hadn’t quite caught up with the question. He was still trying to figure out whether it was _recording_ or _streaming_. There was a difference.

The man decked him again, he bit down on the gag in his mouth. _“Do you understand?!”_ The man roared, and Stiles stated at him and nodded. “Good,” the man cracked his knuckles, then grabbed a bat from the shadows, “Then we can begin.”

Stiles swallowed nervously, pulling at he belts and ropes strapping him to the chair.

+++

The Hale house loomed above him, as imposing as ever, and Scott swallowed nervously as he made his way forwards.

The last time he had been here, he and Derek had another fight. If the other man wanted to see him now…well, he didn’t hold grudges. “Derek! I need your help!”

He walked into the house. “Oh, really. Like you needed my help last night.” Yup, he held grudges. Not that Scott could blame him—he’d said what he did _because_ it was out of line.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Stiles.” Glancing around, he swallowed again. “Please, he needs your help.”

“The little human who told me he wasn’t afraid of me? The one who got me arrested on suspicion of _killing my own sister_?” Wincing, Scott rested a hand on a weathered bannister, taking a few more steps.

“Look, I know that we were wrong. I’m sorry, and I’m sure he is, too.” He took a couple steps, hearing something creak, and paused. There was no indication if it was Derek or him. “Please, Derek. We just—he’s like family. I can’t lose him, too.” He stopped at the top of the stairs, looking around. All that was there were the old, worn curtains that let light in and the dark shadows. After several minutes of no sound, he sighed. “I—I’ll just go. I’m sorry for bothering you.”

He turned—and almost crashed into Derek.

The other wolf steadied him. Scott, meanwhile, nearly jumped out of his skin and fell down the stairs. “The one with the short hair? Dark eyes? Not a jerk—the Sheriff’s son?”

“That’s—that’s Stiles.” Without another word, Derek started walking downstairs. Scott followed him. “Th—thank you. You don’t—you don’t know how much this means—”

“Shut up. Where did he get caught?”

+++

Eventually, the man turned the camera off, talking about how what he was going to do next would earn him death row.

Stiles mind went through all the different things he could mean. Before, he’d only let out a few short yelps or whimpers behind the gag. Now, the man upped what he was doing, made it worse and worse. Punches and kicks had brass knuckles and steel toes. Copper flooded Stiles’ mouth after a vicious right hook and his ribs burned almost as much as his foot. The bat was finally used, cracking down on his shoulders and arms and knees.

And Stiles _screamed._

Even with the gag, it was audible. The man kept going, taunting him with questions he couldn’t answer and mocking the tears he couldn’t fight. Eventually, blessedly, he stopped, and Stiles slumped against the chair with a choked sob. Fingers wrapped around his jaw and yanked him close, others digging into his ribs, and he met the man’s pale gaze with blurry, burning eyes.

“You know, we’re going to have so much _fun_ together, Miezyslaw. But first, I think I’ll send this to dear old dad and ask him if he knows my riddle yet.” Leaning back, the man snapped a picture with the camera, and Stiles flinched away from the flash. Before his eyes recovered, he saw the man standing over him, baseball bat cocked over one shoulder. “Good night.”

The last thing Stiles felt was wood cracking against his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment or kudos, I’ll be watching episode four and maybe episode five and thus be on for some time after these are posted. If anyone knows what streaming sites currently are streaming all of Teen Wolf’s seasons, that’d be nice to know but no pressure. Either way, thanks for reading.  
> Now, into the fray!


	3. You Can't Take Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Stiles continues as Scott and Derek take a look at Roscoe. The sheriff gets the terrible privilege of finding out what has happened to his son. Meanwhile, Stiles sees a chance to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the song from “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimmaron”. Also, just started Season Two and I already have several (slightly rhetorical) questions. For starters, why is Scott running on all fours? Did they have Tyler Posey do that? Also, why did Chris suddenly go from “we live by the code” to ‘I should kill you right now” with Scott? I mean, really, they have no evidence Scott killed anyone and he’s clearly not responsible for Peter’s death or else he’d already be an Alpha. And if it’s about Kate, the guy who killed her is already dead (yes, I know it’s Peter, I know what happens because I read the wiki pages before watching an episode so I know when to skip embarrassing scenes. Call me a fake fan if you want, but I get secondhand embarrassment easier than anyone else in my family). [Note from the day this is published: I write the chapters on paper and then type them up, so there is often a several day lag between one note and the other. Sorry, but that’s how I work]  
> Now, on to the fic!

He was woken with a punch to the face.

Yelping, he opened his eyes and squinted at his attacker. It was the same man, although in a different outfit. Stiles couldn’t make out exact details, just tan pants and a striped shirt. And shoes. “Good morning, Miecyzslaw. I expect you slept well?”

Stiles bit back a reply at first. Head throbbing, he tried to watch the man as he stalked around him. His whole body was filled with the same oddly-hot feeling that came before you passed out. The odd, almost muggy haze where darkness was a few steps behind your eyes. “You don’t—have to call me—that.” Throat dry, he coughed and said, “Most people—call me Stiles.”

The man paused in front of him, and Stiles saw he had something like a cattle prod in hand. Already, Stiles was in a compromising position. His arms were stretched behind him and up, shoulders burning and about to pop from their sockets. He’d been forced to kneel, unable to stand and unable to sit down. Even resting on his ankles was impossible to do without hurting himself. “Names have power, Miecyzslaw. Besides, you don’t tell me what to do. Now, why don’t we begin?”

The cattle prod stabbed into his chest.

+++

“So, this is…”

“Yeah, this is Roscoe.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck, gazing at Stiles’ beloved Jeep. Or really, what was left of it.

The Jeep’s chassis was riddled with bullet holes, scorch marks, and violent rents. The back bumper was crunched. The driver’s side door had been ripped from its spot entirely, the metal side crumpled at parts. The shotgun door was hanging by a few strands of metal. The roof was dented in, windshield spider-webbed with cracks, and the back window was broken. As far as the police could tell, Stiles had been chased in the Jeep to his house. They had _that_ on records, but unfortunately no face to the driver of the second car (which had been found ditched on a side road in the Preserve). Somehow, he had managed to get inside, then ran into the kitchen to protect himself or maybe call someone. It was there that he got caught by his attacker, who had apparently broken in the window and jumped through before fighting with him. The Jeep had been found in a ditch, having been rolled, but Stiles’ blood was all over the seats and their easiest guess was that he had been forced to drive it away from his house and maybe even into the ditch they’d found it in. They had no fingerprints, no face, nothing a human could go off of to find his attacker.

But Scott and Derek weren’t human.

Derek paced around the Jeep, staring at the car’s wounds. “He is _not_ going to be happy when he sees this.” He mused, inhaling and then going to the driver’s side. “This is a human’s work, so we don’t need to worry about another pack trying to jump in. A wolf wouldn’t be so sloppy.” Pausing, he leaned down and added, “There’s a scent here.”

“Other than Stiles’?” Derek shot a look at him, and Scott ducked his head. “Sorry, dumb question. What about Stiles?”

Derek continued to stalk around Roscoe, hands in the pockets of the leather jacket he always wore. “Well…there’s a lot of blood, obviously. So the scent’s strong but he’s probably weak, which means we shouldn’t expect him to escape. There’s fear, too, a lot of it, and…”

“Is that… _salt_?”

Derek nodded. “He was panicking, maybe hurt, too.” For a brief moment, his mind flashed to a long time ago, when he had been shot as a kid. It…hadn’t been fun. “And he doesn’t heal like us. He might’ve been crying from the pain.” The whole Jeep reeked of fear, as well as the thick stench of someone else’s anger. “I can’t imagine rolling Roscoe was fun either. The guy forced him to be inside, I think. There’s gunpowder here, so he probably used a gun.” Scott seemed visibly upset, like he was imagining Stiles with a gun pressed to his head, being forced to drive his mother’s car into a ditch. Derek’s eyes narrowed, and he added, “I think I’ve got a scent.”

“Derek, if you don’t have one…I should probably stop bugging you. We need to find him, and if you can’t help—”

“I know.”

“I’m serious, we don’t have—we’re running out of time. If he’s lost that much blood—”

“I know, Scott.”

“I can’t lose him. I mean it’s hard enough—”

Derek slammed a hand on the side of the Jeep, apologising to Stiles in his mind. Glaring at Scott, he snapped, “Shut up, Scott, I _know_.” Whether Derek liked the smart alec or not, Stiles was Scott’s Pack. He knew all too well how painful losing Pack was.

He wouldn’t let Scott go through that, too.

Scott opened and closed his mouth a few times, clearly unsure of what to say. Finally, he managed, “I’m sorry, Derek. Look, maybe—maybe I should just leave you alone.”

“No, you’re not. I’m helping you.” When Scott stared at him, he just scoffed. “Whoever this guy is, they’re dangerous. Smart, too. I don’t want them in Hale territory.” The light in Scott’s eyes that clearly meant he thought Derek Hale had a heart after all quickly faded as he decided Derek was only helping to further his own agenda. Good. Let him think that if he wanted. Derek didn’t care.

Scott’s phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. “Hello? Mom?” Frowning, he stared ahead as Derek rounded the car to him. “Whoa, Mom, slow—slow down. What happened?” Some hurried, tear-filled explanation was choked out. “Okay, Mom, I’ll be right there. I love you.” When the call ended, Scott looked up. For a moment, Derek just stared at him expectantly. “The Sheriff got a video emailed to him. Of Stiles.”

The young man continued to stand there. “Well?” Derek prompted.

“Well what?”

“Are we going to go find out what’s in it or are we going to stand here like idiots all day?” Scott blinked, then led the way from the impound lot.

+++

He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take.

Already, he had counted forty-five lashes. Not individual strikes—the guy was using something else, Stiles dimly recognised it as a cat o’ nine tails. The nine tails were bladed, too. He found himself thinking back to when he had done a report on the Romans. Apparently, they had a “game” where they would see if they could rip a rib from their victim’s back with the whip. From the burning, sparking pain in his ribs, Stiles had a feeling the guy had won said game. Possibly several times.

He was hanging by his aching shoulders still, voice one from screaming and even begging for it to stop. The guy was straight up insane. He wasn’t doing this for ransom money. No, this was _fun_ for him. No matter how much Stiles had begged, he hadn’t even hesitated.

Stiles was pretty sure his shoulders had been dislocated. His shirt had been ripped from his back by the whip. Even worse, he could feel blood running down his back, hot and sticky.

Forty-eight.

Forty-nine.

Fifty.

Fifty-one.

There was a pause, and the man stalked around him. Sliding a gloved hand along the length of the bloodied, bladed tails, he flicked Stiles’ own blood in his face. Coughing, Stiles let his head hang, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his body.

“You know, birdie, for someone so talkative, you’re certainly being quiet.” The man mused, cupping Stiles’ face and running his thumb by his mouth. He pressed his fingers into the bruises there, and over Stiles’ jaw. As Stiles glared up at him, a dangerous light danced in the man’s eyes. “What? Cat got your tongue?” He snapped the whip in the air, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from flinching. A slight smirk played on his lips, almost triumphant.

It vanished when Stiles bit down hard on his thumb.

_Ha! Take that!_ He shouted mentally, feeling mildly proud of himself. Briefly, he wondered how Derek and Scott and the others would react. For a few moments, as the man yelled in pain, Stiles would have laughed if he could have.

“You little—you’ll pay for that!” The man cast aside the cat o’ nine tails. Stiles wasn’t able to fully register what happened next, it was too fast. He felt fire and pain firework across his body. When he was done, the man released him from the chains. Stiles cracked his chin against the ground, then curled around himself as best as his aching body allowed. Through ringing ears, he heard, “I’ll be back when you’ve learned your lesson. You _will_ respect me, birdie.”

Then he left, and Stiles watched the door close through burning eyes. Then he was in darkness once more. Stiles flipped the man off mentally. He may not be singing, but the man certainly got _a_ bird. In his peripheral, something lit the room for a brief thirty seconds, and Stiles hauled himself over as quickly as possible. Surprise sifted through the pain like sand through a sieve.

The man had left _Stiles’_ phone.

+++

Noah Stilinski paced his office as Melissa watched the video for the third time.

The sound of his son screaming would forever be ingrained in his mind. It was almost worse when accompanied with the sight of him bloody and bruised and beaten. Of watching him being struck over and over again, even whipped. This was not how this weekend was supposed to go. This weekend should have been _their_ weekend, not Stiles going through hell. “Noah, remember to breathe. This guy knows what he’s doing.” Melissa pointed out, and Noah sighed.

“That’s exactly the problem. He knows what he’s doing. He knows where to hurt Stiles the most.”

“But he also knows there’s limits to what a human body can take.” When he glanced at her, she was sympathetic.

“Do you think he’s alive?”

“Definitely. This guy isn’t trying to kill him.” She frowned and zoomed in on the video all of a sudden. “Wait, I think I know who this is.”

He glanced up at her, wide-eyed. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three days after I wrote the ante-notes, I’ve finished Season two. I’ll be watching Season Three after I post this, and I can already tell it’s going to be a tough season (I don’t do well with mental hospitals, and of the Season One and Two characters Stiles is my favourite).   
> Not entirely sure how I feel about the show, honestly. I do like it, but I just…I have a lot of questions. I don’t know why Gerard went so easy on Stiles (come on, the guy is ruthless, he can’t possibly have left Stiles with just a few scrapes and bruises). Also, part of me is really tempted to write a werewolf-type story. Not one that would copy Teen Wolf—I wrote a book back in seventh grade (it never got published, but it was about three hundred and seventy pages so it wasn’t exactly a short story) that had shapeshifters and stuff and it was semi-decent. I’ve been meaning to rewrite it anyways, after coming out to myself I couldn’t write my character with female pronouns without having a panic attack about it so I had to scrap three series worth of information and characters. I’ll decide by next chapter and let you know if you’re interested.   
> Now, into the fray once more!


	4. Long Nights and Dark Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The identity of Stiles’ captor is finally revealed. Meanwhile, Stiles himself ends up in a bad situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally came back to this story after about a week, and I’m on Season 6a. Which is…kind of terrifying, to say the least. Normally, I don’t have this kind of show-watching obsession. Long story short, watching the show convinced me “You know what? The ideas are different enough, let’s just write it!” So I did. And now I might make it into an animated series, so let me know if you’re interested and once I get the trailer script written out and storyboarded I can send you a link or something.  
> Now, on to the fic!

He hadn’t been fed in days.

The man still left the phone with him, although he wasn’t sure why. When he’d found Stiles with it, he’d given him the beating of a lifetime, then left him in an empty basement with nothing around him except for the phone. He knew he’d only been gone a couple days at that point.

At nights, it got to freezing temperatures. All he could do was curl up and hope he didn’t get frostbite. He had a feeling he was still in Beacon Hills, judging by the way the guy talked and kept mentioning how much fun it would be when the Sheriff got Stiles back. How it would be great to see the look on his face when he realised what his son had gone through, and how it was his fault the entire time.

It’d been three days since he was last given water. Well, not so much given as forced to drink through a tube down his throat. The man had pinned him down to do that, even though Stiles was too weak from blood loss to fight back at that point. He didn’t know how long it had been since he was given food, and he had no clue when he would be given some.

He’d learned a lot from insomnia-driven late-night Internet dives. For example, the average speed of a garden snail was a whopping 0.029 miles per hour. Another was that bees could be trained to find explosives. He also knew that someone could live without any food for twenty-one days, depending on some factors like body fat and the like. From the looks of it, the guy who held him captive wasn’t interested in much more than keeping him alive and beating the crap out of him.

Groaning, he cracked his eyes open when the door slammed open. The man who’d been keeping him captive for days stormed over, something in hand. “Get up. Now.” When Stiles didn’t comply, a steel-toed boot collided with his ribs and he groaned. “I said get up! We’re moving!”

Coughing, Stiles tried to get even an arm beneath him, but he physically could not move. Finally, the man growled, grabbed his collar, and yanked him up by the back of his shirt collar. Shoving him forward, he growled something about kids being ungrateful and hauled him down the hallway of an old building. “Where…where are we…” A glare was his only warning before he was slammed into the wall, a shard of glass thrust into his stomach.

“Shut up. Thanks to your friends, we’re moving.” He shoved Stiles ahead of him, and they emerged onto a street Stiles only vaguely recognised. Even though it was night time, his eyes stung from the streetlights and he stumbled over his own feet. “Move it!”

Stiles did move, or at least he tried to. Apparently it wasn’t enough for the man, and he was pushed roughly to the ground. Chin cracking against concrete, he laid there for a few moments while something creaked open. Then he was being grabbed again, hauled into something that smelled faintly of old leather and alfalfa hay. Chains clinked together, and he was shackled to the ground. A door slammed and the ground shook, and he heard something—an engine—roar to life outside.

He was in a horse trailer.

He was being moved.

+++

“Hold on, you know this guy?”

Scott asked, staring at the Sheriff and his mother. With a sigh, Noah Stilinski ran a hand over his face and glanced at Melissa. “Unfortunately. His name is William Martez. He sold firearms illegally, amongst other things. We nailed him for assault and battery, though.”

“What happened?”

“He came into the station and attacked three different officers. I don’t know what he was thinking, but I tackled him and shoved him in a cell and that was that.” Noah replied, leaning on the desk. Staring at the ground, he added, “I don’t know why he would take Stiles, though, I mean, I know, he wants to hurt me, but why Stiles? The kid hasn’t done anything to him.”

“That’s probably why. He won’t be satisfied with just hurting you physically.” Melissa paused until both men looked at her, then continued, “Stiles is your only kid. He’s the pride and joy of your life, and he’s all you have left. If you lose him, it’s going to be more painful than anything William could have done to you.”

“Do we have any leads?” Scott asked when the room fell into a lapse of silence, and Noah paused.

“Not yet. But we will.” Meeting Scott’s gaze, he added in a determined tone, “We’re going to find him, Scott. No matter what.”

+++

He wasn’t sure if it was night or day anymore.

Honestly, he wasn’t sure where he was at all. After being driven around in the horse trailer for the better part of six hours, he had finally fallen asleep despite the rocking and bumping. When he had been woken with a bucket of boiling water to the face, he’d been marched into another house and then thrown down the basement stairs. Despite the aching of his entire body, he hadn’t moved since.

The man didn’t need to touch him to hurt him, it seemed.

The phone, somehow, was still okay. All Stiles could think of was that he’d been gone for some time. It couldn’t access the Internet, couldn’t tell him where he was. It could say the time and that was about it, really. All he could do was wait.

He’d never been good at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but I’m starting to lose focus with this. I’ll get around to it again eventually, I promise, I just gotta work at it.  
> Anyways, see you in the next chapter!


	5. Not an Actual Chapter

Hey, guys, Gold here.

So, I'm really sorry, I know you guys have been looking forwards to the last couple chapters of this. I was putting it off because i hadn't gotten around to storyboarding the teaser trailer for a personal project that would be on my youtube (which now exists as me, yay!)

However, the story is going to have to go on a hiatus. I don't know for how long, but it could be anywhere from just a few more days to a couple months. I'm really sorry for doing this to you, but about forty minutes ago I found out that one of my childhood friends passed away from cancer. It's not a sudden development, we've known this was going on since last August, but it's still...yeah. This is going to be taking a short hiatus, and I may not post on Ao3 for a little while.

Once again, I'm sorry. Thank you for reading this far and commenting, I should be back soon. I just need some time. I hope you all know you're loved and appreciated and amazing, and I hope you have a wonderful day.

\--Goldstone


End file.
